


Dazzling Blue Someday (the text message from tony remix)

by claudiapriscus



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF Pepper Potts, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudiapriscus/pseuds/claudiapriscus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five proposals Tony made (and the one he accepted)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dazzling Blue Someday (the text message from tony remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storiesfortravellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Text Message from Tony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117897) by [storiesfortravellers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers). 



> Beta'd by the incomparable honeylocusttree

**I. Vegas**

“No, no, no, hear me out- we could be there in like, four hours-”

“In four hours we could be in a lot of places,” Alyxxis said. Interrupted, really, but she doubted she’d made more than a dent in her host’s increasingly incoherent rambling. She'd pretty much been letting it just flow past her like a soothing white noise chant, but every once in a while, some phrase would catch her attention and pull her back into the moment. She stretched her legs out across the limo seats, careless of the snoring, slumped airman occupying the space, and leaned back against the disheveled, glassy-eyed kid behind her. She snagged the champagne bottle out of his unresisting hand, and topped up her glass, which had been tragically empty for far too long.

“ _That's_ my point,” the kid said, as if she'd just handed him victory. “We _could_ be in a lot of places. Tempus fugit. Seize the day.”

“Carpe diem,” she said.

“Exactly! We'll sober up Rhodey, and-”

“It's carpe diem that means seize the day,” she said.

The kid looked confused for a second. “Isn't that what I said?”

She leaned back further, reclining as much as she could against him without upsetting her drink. “Nope.”

His puzzlement only lasted a second. “See, this is exactly why this is a great idea.”

She prodded the sleeping airman with her foot, trying to get him to shift position a little. “What's a great idea?”

There was a slightly outraged silence. She glanced up at the boy, his hair hanging over his forehead, over his eyes, his cheeks flushed from drinking and general hedonism. His gaze was far more intense and probing than it had been a few minutes ago. She reached up and brushed the hair out of his eyes. She'd meant it as a casual, friendly gesture, but his face became shuttered and he flinched away from her hand. She dropped it, feeling slightly guilty and almost apologetic, although she was damned if she knew why. He looked so _young_ , that's what got to her. He couldn't be more than a couple years younger than she was, but they were _important_ years, she was pretty sure.

He used her hesitation to snag the bottle away from her and take a swig of it, as if that'd been his plan all along.

“Vegas, obviously,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. “What's in Vegas?” she said. She glanced back at him. “Are you even old enough to gamble?”

“Yes,” he said, affronted, “and so not the point. And what's in Vegas is 24 hour wedding chapels.”

She sat up so quickly she nearly knocked the bottle out his hand and into his lap. Her sudden movement caused the airman to wake up enough to moan piteously about his oncoming hangover.

“You've got to be kidding me,” she said.

“Nope! You, me, Vegas, champagne-” he looked at the bottle, then corrected, “More champagne. Why not.”

“You don't just ask people to marry you,” she said.

“Yeah, you kinda do. And I just did. What'dya say?”

“No!”

“Why not? It's kinda the measure of parties these days- there's a direct correlation between the level of hedonism and the number of resulting Vegas weddings, I could show you graphs- Plus, you know, it'd make a hell of a story-”

“You're an _ass_ ,” she said.

“And this ass could be all yours, a limited time offer that kind of thing-”

She shook him off, and scuttled sideways through the body of the limo until she could get up to the partition separating the passenger compartment from the driver. She knocked on the window. “Hey driver,” she said, “hang a U up at the next light and drop me off back at that Denny's.”

The driver sailed right on through the next intersection. She slunk down in her new seat and then directed a glare towards the back of the limo.

The kid was very transparently failing to hide his amusement. He sketched a vague figure in the air with his fingers. “There's- ah- a button. He can't hear you. Soundproofing.” He shrugged, then leaned over and pressed a button on the console next to his seat, then spoke loudly into the grille above. “Hey, skip the scenic route, head back to-” he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Linda Vista avenue,” she said, biting every word as if each one cost her.

“Linda Vista,” the kid finished. He let his finger off the button and smirked at her as the car slowed and changed lanes. It wasn't right for his face, didn't have the effect she knew he was hoping for. Maybe when he was older, and time had settled into lines on that face, maybe then he could smirk and it'd be roguish and charming. But with those cherubic features, it was an ugly thing, the temper tantrum of some rotten, spoiled, fifth grader, the kind that thinks it's funny to set cats on fire.

“Hey, at least the night wasn't a total loss, disastrous proposals notwithstanding,” he said.

“Until you went and made it weird.”

He shrugged. “Just part of the whole experience.”

“It's a sick kind of joke.”

“I wasn't joking. If you'd not been a _total_ spoil sport, we could be on our way to Vegas right now.”

“ _Why?_ ”

He shrugged. “It'd be a fun story. Shake things up, keep people on their toes. You could get a tell-all book deal out of it, you know.”

She crossed her legs and scowled. “Fantastic. Because spending the rest of my life being known as the gold-digging _whore_ who Vegas-married Tony Stark is just what I've always wanted. Just a hint for next time, maybe _don't_ propose to your next fiancée because you think it'll make for good press in the _goddamn tabloids_.”

“Hey, who said anything about the tabloids, I was thinking it'd liven up the next shareholder meeting-”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, you had your chance,” he said, opening his hands wide. “Actually, if you want, you still have a chance-”

The car swung around and pulled into a parking lot. Alyxxis glanced out the window. “Looks like this is my stop. I'd say thanks for everything, but you know, that sentence would end with telling you where to shove it.” She grabbed her shoes off the floor and shuffled towards the door, which was opened by the smartly-dressed and until-now anonymous chauffeur.

"And yet you managed it anyway," Tony said. "Which seems a little over the top- just sayin' here- in a response to a genuine once-in-a-lifetime type offer. Could've been fun. Could still be fun, you know. Vegas. Champagne. Scandal." 

She slid out the door. “Ask your buddy, I bet that'd make for a _story_ ,” she said, glaring back over her shoulder before stalking off.

The driver raised his eyebrows, and then gently shut the door behind her.

 

  **II. Vegas Redux**

Tony reached over and prodded Rhodey in the shoulder until he groaned and sat up. “What?”

“I know you aren't that out of it.”

“Man, she didn't tell you anything you didn't deserve.”

“Where's the love, huh?”

“Oh, I'll show you the love,” Rhodey said, “I've got your love right here.” He picked up a discarded beer bottle lid and expertly flicked it at Tony's head.

Tony grabbed it out of the air, surprising even himself with that improbable act of drunken coordination.

“So,” Tony said, eying Rhodey speculatively, “How do _you_ feel about a Vegas wedding?”

“I am not even drunk enough for this.” Rhodey flopped back down in the seat.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.”

 

**III. Fixation**

So maybe- maybe the all night party hadn't been- well, strategic. He couldn't call it a bad idea, because it'd been a great idea, but board meetings were pointless exercises in slow torture even without the stabbing headache and desire to just fold up under the table and grab some of the nice, cool, inviting floor below.

They'd called a quick break ten minutes ago. Board members (bored members, ha, ha) shuffled papers and converged in small little knots of small talk off in random corners. Tony focused on staying upright and frowning at the reports in front of him, mostly in the hope that it'd be mistaken for him giving serious consideration to anything _other_ than the problem of not toppling over like a majestic redwood in the presence of lumberjacks.  Thoughts like the last one were the reason he kinda suspected it wasn't working. There was nothing worse than being both drunk and hungover, unless it was being drunk, hungover, _and_ stuck in all-day board meetings. There’d be hell to pay later, but fuck it. Soothing ruffled feathers was Obie's job.

He was staring so intently at the blurred figures before him that he didn't even notice the cup of coffee that had been set on the table next to him until the smell of it hit his nose like the olfactory promise of nirvana.

“I swear to God,” he said, gripping the cup tight enough to burn, “I don't care who you are or what you look like, but I think we should get married.”

“Are you proposing to me, or to the coffee?” Came the amused voice behind him.

Tony took a moment to savor the taste of pure unadulterated caffeine before carefully spinning his chair around to face his newest assistant, a woman who had so far shown herself to be so efficient and capable that he'd begun to expect she popped out of the womb wielding a clipboard and an annotated schedule- or arisen, like Venus, from the foam of a particularly managerial sea.

“Both,” he said. “Either.”

Her manner was impeccable- there were probably diagrams of it somewhere in business textbooks- but there was a hint of a smile at the edges of her lips and her eyes were warm with poorly-concealed humor. She was laughing at his misery, he could tell. Normally, he hated obnoxiously sober people, but beware goddesses bringing coffee- or something like that, anyway- and, well, there were a lot of things he was willing to forgive for a well-timed dose of hot steaming caffeine.

He took another sip of the coffee, then sank back against the chair, sighing in near-ecstasy. “Seriously,” he said, “I think I love you. Let's run away together.”

“You, me, and the coffee...?”

“Well, I'm not leaving it behind.”

That earned him a genuine grin, lighting fast. “As much as I'd love to take you away from all this, Mr. Stark, there's a fatal flaw to your plan.”

“And what's that?” he said, then shaded his eyes and groaned, “And don't tell me it's about the Steuben report-”

“Well, that's a good point, it's something I've only been working on for _days_ -”

Tony sank back further against the chair, wincing dramatically.

“-but no, I was thinking more of the fact that if you took me away from all this-” she waved a hand at the board room- “or vice versa, you'd have to face the board on your own, and I don't think any of them are about to special order any coffee for you.”

Tony sat up. “You're right. Take a note, Ms. Potts: you are _absolutely_ never to try and marry me.”

“Duly noted,” she said, taking the seat next to him. “Now that that's cleared up, before the meeting resumes, I wanted to go over some figures with you-”

 

**IV. Business Proposal**

“Sue, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about for a while now-”

Susan Rolfe looked sharply up from the menu she'd been studying, taking in Stark's unusually serious demeanor, the- yes, okay, romantic atmosphere of this _ever so expensive_ restaurant, and most damnably, the bottle of champagne waiting at the side of the table. By the time she caught back up with the conversation, Stark had moved on to, “And I've been giving it a lot of thought, and considering the work we've been doing together these last few years-”

Susan held up a hand. “Tony, let me stop you right there.” He looked so pained, she almost took pity on him. It was a mistake. He took advantage of her momentary hesitation to continue pressing suit.

“Look, I know it's crazy. We're like the last people to even _think_ about this. But the potential benefits greatly outweigh the potential challenges-”

“I don't think _challenges_ even begins to cover it, Tony-”

“And seriously, can you imagine the press?  There's no denying that we’d be stronger together, and we’d definitely make for some beautiful copy.”

“It's not a matter of how it looks, it's the principle of the thing-”

He leaned forward. “Look, I know I can make it worth your while.”

Susan didn't even dignify that with an answer, just poured every ounce of skepticism into the look she sent his way. He shrugged, conceding. He said, “Just consider it, that's all I'm asking.”

“I _have_ considered it, Tony. The last six times you've brought it up. As I've told you before, I just don't see it working, and I certainly don't see it as mutually beneficial.”

“But-”

She shook her head. “No buts. No ands. No ifs. The answer's _no_ , Tony. The merger is off the table. And you can tell Stane that if he tries to take it hostile, I will not only have his guts for garters, I will personally serve his balls to him on a silver platter.”

He sat up straighter, grinning. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Susan looked him directly in the eye. “Don't expect me to return the compliment.”

His grin went wider. “Maybe we should be discussing more personal contractual arrangements.”

She laughed. “Only you'd think to make a pass after the threat of ritual emasculation.”

He gave her an intense, smoldering look. “I like to live dangerously,” he purred, but he couldn't manage to keep a straight face.

Susan picked up her empty wine glass, and clinked it in mock toast against Tony's own. “You certainly do.”

 

**V. Falling**

Tony kicked a small piece of rubble away from the sidewalk and watched it go skittering down the street. They were moving pretty slowly down the street; Pepper’s shoes were far less towering than normal, but they still weren’t in the same league as the heavy, steel-toed work boots circumstances required. Tony fidgeted for a second as he watched her walk away, and then, before he could talk himself out of it, said,“So- ah- in light of recent events and all, I've been thinking that maybe we should get married.”

Pepper stopped, stock-still, careless of the wreckage of the bits of Stark tower that hadn’t stayed where they were they were supposed to. She whirled back around to face him. “Did you- did you really just- _propose_ to me?”

Tony clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah, I think that about covers it.”

She shook her head, pressed her lips together. After a second, she said, “And you've had this thought- you were gonna propose because of – you thought this was the time, because what, aliens attacking? You trying to kill yourself, _again_?” Her voice was deceptively even, but it carried an unmistakable edge.

She still hadn't moved so much as an inch. Her hands were clenched down at her sides. Everything about her was taut, like a rubber band pulled tight and about to snap.

“You're- angry,” he said, holding up his hands. “You're right, maybe this isn't the right time-”

She stared at him. “Ha.” It was too brusque to count as a laugh. And just like that she deflated, slumping heavily against an overturned cab, careless of the ugly oil stains the movement left across the fine fabric of her suit.

“Why, Tony? Why now?” Her tone had lost its edge and now just sounded achingly tired.

“Well, I- uh.” he licked his lips. “I- There was this- No.” He shook his head and his hands fell limply to his sides. Words were never his problem, but now he was choking on them.

He reached over and grabbed her hand, and when she looked up to meet his eye, he said, “Time. That's the thing. There's so little of it- can be so little of it. There was this moment-” he stopped, clenched his jaw for a moment. “And the thing is....when things get bad- really bad- you're the only thing I'm thinking of. The only thing. Your voice. Your face. And maybe. Maybe the first couple of times it could have just been a fluke, because we're friends, because you're, let's face it, pretty much capable of fixing anything and in extremis, the mind...reaches. But it's you. It's always you.” He grasped her hand that much tighter, as if it were his only tether to the tired earth. “And that's the point. You're- you're the _only_ _thing_ that matters to me, Pepper, after everything else, at the very end, it's you.” He breathed for a second, his heart tight, his chest constricted, the memory of darkness and eternal falls lingering at the very edge of his imagination. “And that's...that's why now. That's what I was thinking, that if I could have had another chance, I wouldn't have waited for anything. That I shouldn't wait. That it's important.”

Pepper broke his gaze and dropped her eyes to the ground, but she didn't pull away. “I saw you,” she said, and her voice was hollow. “With the missile.” A self-deprecating smile ghosted across her face. “Couldn't tear my eyes away. Didn't even breathe. I watched you ride a _nuclear bomb_ into a hole into _nowhere_ and- that was it. It closed. They cut back to the studio.”

“Pepper...”

She shook her head minutely. “I picked up my phone, then. Missed call, I don't think I even heard it, and I swear, I even hear it in my sleep. Called into JARVIS, but there wasn't anything. You'd- vanished.”

“I'm sorry.”

Pepper shook her head again, then used her free hand to wipe hard at her eyes. “God, this is ridiculous. You're fine. We're fine. It's not your fault. I've- I've accepted who you are, what you do. You saved New York. God knows what would have happened. I'm not- I'm not angry about that. I'm not angry about anything. I'm proud of you. But Tony-” she sighed. “I know you probably don't think so, but what you just said- that's not romantic. I can't be the person you martyr yourself for. I don't want to be the thing you die thinking of.”

His heart, if it was even possible, felt even tighter than it had a minute before. “So..?”

“So. So I'm not going to marry you because aliens attacked New York. Or because you've had _another_ near-death experience.”

“...but you'd marry me for other reasons?”

She glanced back up at him, and he saw the slightest reflection of the playfulness upon which their friendship had been founded creeping back into her eyes.  And just like that, the tightness around his heart eased.

“Maybe,” she said. “No. I don't know. You have terrible timing, as usual.”

“It's not like you didn't already know that.”

“That's true.” She squeezed his hand, then stood back up. “Come on, I need to see the inside. It's been cleared, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, relieved. “Declared minimally structurally sound by none other than me.”

“That is not nearly as reassuring as you think it is,” she said, picking her way across the rubble. “But it'll have to do.”

 

**VI. ( And the one he didn't.)**

It was one of those rare lazy Sundays they sometimes managed to steal, where they’d waste a whole morning stretched out in bed- at least until the next thing that urgently required attention from one of them. So far, their record was making it to noon before the rest of the world’s demands managed to come crashing back in. In deference to putting off the inevitable as long as possible, by tacit agreement, they both avoided electronic temptations and stuck to the Sunday paper instead. There was a slow luxury in it, the rustle of the pages, the tactile sensation of rough newspaper edges, of reading sections to each other because neither of them liked reading over a shoulder.

Tony'd been too slow in grabbing the next section, and so was stuck with the travel feature.

“What are your thoughts on the Amalfi Coast, Potts?”

Pepper looked up from her hard-won business section. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Curiosity? There's a feature on it.”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to an in-depth interview with the CEO of something or other. After a minute, she casually continued, “I always liked it as a honeymoon spot.”

There was silence. The paper rustled.

Tony poked out a finger and tugged the business section obscuring her face down. “Did you just propose to me?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Maybe. Yes. So what do you think?”

“About the Amalfi Coast or marriage?”

“Both.” She shrugged. “Either.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we'd put a moratorium on near-death proposals.”

Her mouth turned up at the corners. “Well, luckily it turns out I'm not dying.”

He folded his arms. “It's _near_ death, not actual death.”

“That would imply that death was a possibility, which, as it turns out, was unexpectedly not a likely outcome, despite appearances to the contrary.”

“You are pretty indestructible. But that's nothing new.” She rolled her eyes. “But seriously, Pep,” he continued, “It's- it's the principle of the thing. You were right, after that whole clusterfuck back East. You're still right. I don't wanna do this unless it's for the right reasons.”

“I know what you're saying, Tony. I haven’t changed my mind. If it helps, you could call it a... _life_ proposal. Since it looks like we'll be having so much more of it. I don't want to marry you because I think we might die. I want to marry you because I know we're going to live.” She winced. “And yes, I know how cheesy that sounds.”

His cheek twitched. “You're doing a pretty bad job of sweeping me off my feet, Potts.”

“I didn't think it was necessary,” she said.

He shrugged, conceding the point. “And in any case, I'm pretty sure your whole _life_ , _not near-death_ dodge is cheating. Technically.”

Undaunted, she said, “I didn't think there were any rules.”

He paused. “You're right, there aren't. Except the coffee one, which I'm willing to waive at this point because it's moot-”

“So?”

He shrugged. “So.” He let the silence linger, just let it roll on until it was tight and uncomfortable between them. “I hate Amalfi, better make it Lake Como.”

She grinned, sudden and bright, and leaned over and kissed him deeply. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for the title taken from "Dazzling Blue" by Paul Simon.


End file.
